


Richard Gilmore and the Homemade Broomstick

by Signe (oxoniensis)



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-04
Updated: 2008-02-04
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxoniensis/pseuds/Signe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you think my grand-daughter is going to go flying out to meet you at night..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Richard Gilmore and the Homemade Broomstick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kellifer_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/gifts).



> A huge thank you to zooey_glass04 for betaing. Sort of spoilery for episode 2x12.

Richard huffs, pulls himself upright, and stares down at Rory's boyfriend. Admittedly, he only has about an inch on the boy in height, but he has the weight of good Gilmore stock behind him, and he's not going to let some beanpole of a wizard from Merlin knows where get the better of him.

"If you think my grand-daughter is going to go flying out to meet you at night—"

The boy has the gall to interrupt him. "Rory wouldn't do that, and I wouldn't want her to."

"I know what boys want," Richard replies, and this time it's Rory who interrupts him.

"Grandpa!" she scolds, and Richard is annoyed to feel a touch of shame. The boy – Dean – hasn't actually done anything terrible to Rory so far. Other than give her a completely inappropriate present, of course.

"I want the very best for Rory, and I'm sure you do too, Sir. I thought it would be easier for Rory to get back and forth from school if she had a broom." He smiles sickeningly at Rory, and takes her hand in his, adding, "And all her friends have them."

"Not homemade ones," Richard points out. "It's all very well thinking it _looks_ safe, but the moment she's in the air it will shed twigs and become impossible to steer, and I am not having my grand-daughter's life put in jeopardy."

There's a spark in Dean's eyes now, and he's gritting his teeth. Richard rather hopes he says whatever he's thinking so Richard can put him in his place.

"It is perfectly safe. I tested it, my father tested it, and Madame Gypsy from Hewes Brooms tested it. It flies beautifully. I would never put Rory in any kind of danger."

Lorelai is talking now, something about having her say in the matter, but Richard ignores her. He's had a lot of practice – it comes easily.

"Rory is not accepting that broom, and that is the end of it."

Richard tries to turn away and avoid looking at Rory – he has his strengths, but he also has his weaknesses, and a wise man knows them. Rory's disappointed face is one of his weaknesses.

"But Grandpa, surely if Madame Gypsy has checked it out—" Rory pleads, leaving her sentence hanging in the air, sad and hopeful. She lets go of Dean's hand and strokes the broom longingly.

"And we're just to take his word for it?" Richard's caving, he can feel it, but he's not going to be beguiled easily.

"No, you can check with Hewes Brooms yourself," Dean says, belligerence in his tone and his folded arms and pressed-thin lips.

"I will."

"Okay."

"You'll have to fly it. I'm not risking my life on that—thing."

"I'll be sure to wait for you once I get there. It'll take you a while on _that_ ," Dean says, looking pointedly at Richard's broom resting against the verandah.

"I'll have you know this is a classic broom."

"Exactly," Dean says, and has the audacity to imbue the word with as much disdain as his earlier look.

It's a classic Arc XJ, a rare and valuable model, though Richard secretly has to admit that it's never had a great turn of speed, and it can be a little temperamental. But no other broom comes close to matching its looks (sleek, dark oiled wood) or its comfort (no need for extra padding on this broom), or its longevity (British craftsmanship at its best).

"Don't fly too close – I don't want twigs molting onto me mid-flight," Richard says, then mounts his Arc and sets off without waiting for an answer. He passed by Hewes Brooms earlier today, on his tour of Star's Hollow's wizarding quarter with Lorelai, so he knows the way. He briefly considers trying to get there first and offering Madame Gypsy an incentive to fail the broom, but then he pictures Rory's face if she ever found out. Not that it's a feasible idea anyway – Dean overtakes him half a block from Lorelai's, has the impudence to wave as he goes past, and then lounges outside the Broom supply and repair shop as though he's been waiting for hours, not the mere fraction of a minute that it must have been.

Madame Gypsy is somewhat uncouth – her rotating eye makes Richard uncomfortable, not to mention the mangy little owl that sits on her shoulder and stares at him – but Richard can't deny that she knows brooms. He sees it in the way she runs her hands along the homemade one, the way she flips it over with ease but the greatest of respect to examine the tail. She takes it on a test flight, diving and twisting, stopping in mid-air like a crazy woman, then swooping up high into the night sky, so high only the glow at the end of her wand is visible. Eventually she spirals down and lands beside him, dismounts, and stands hands on hips.

"Broom is perfect," she says.

"It's handmade by a schoolboy. It can hardly be perfect," Richard retorts reasonably. "Have you checked everything? I've paid you six galleons for this service and I expect a thorough check."

"Yes. Everything. Twice. It was good the first time, it is good the second time." Her rotating eye glares at his face while her other eye looks over the broom. "It is a good broom. Rory's a lucky girl."

Dean smiles at him smugly. Gypsy's owl has a similar expression on its face, and Richard is going to have to concede defeat while being stared at by a smug, lanky teenager and a smug owl. He hates losing – it upsets his digestion and doesn't sit well with him at all, and this is a particularly frustrating defeat.

"Very well," he says, steeling himself to say the words. "You may fly that broom back to my daughter's house and give it to Rory. But don't even _think_ of getting up to anything with Rory on it, or teaching her any bad flying habits, or anything else inappropriate."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Richard has to admit that the huge hug Rory gives him when he gets back helps to take the sting out of the evening. And as he manages to ignore the snappish looks Lorelai keeps giving him, and Dean doesn't stay for the rest of evening, he's even able to enjoy a pleasant glass of Firewhisky and listen to The Wandering Warblers on the wizarding radio before heading home to Emily.

And if he owls Hewes Brooms the next day to make an appointment to have a new broom custom-made for him, a faster one, well, that's a secret strictly between him and Madame Gypsy.


End file.
